


Falling

by Head_Of_Ianus



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Character Death, Dark Q (James Bond), Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25574791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Head_Of_Ianus/pseuds/Head_Of_Ianus
Summary: The ground beneath his feet gives in with a terrible crack, and Bond falls.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> This fills the Prompts "Fall" and "Turn" (used as in turning on someone) from the 007 Fest 2020 Angst Prompt Table :')

The worst thing about falling is the feeling of your stomach dropping, as though you have left behind your intestines while the rest of your body comes tumbling down in an unbreakable drop.

One moment, Bond had been scaling the decaying concrete floors of a lighthouse, the next he was falling, his brain barely catching up to the roaring winds around him.

Q had assured him the lighthouse was safe to climb. He‘d promised.

The ground was approaching at speeds he could not comprehend. He was bracing for impact, for the snap of bones, tearing of skin, chipping of teeth, the copper smell of his own blood, the burst of blinding pain. Before he could take another breath, he could discern spots of grass underneath him. He hit the ground full speed.

Everything was a shrill shade of pain when he came to, so blinding he could barely remember where he was and what had even happened. The moon above him was swimming and blurring, and Bond could not fathom why he couldn‘t move his legs or his arms, and why his eyelids were so heavy — why his vocal cords protested when he rasped out:

“Q?“

First thing he could remember was that Q would know. Q would know why his back was hurting so badly and why he couldn‘t feel his feet although they were bent at such an awkward angle. Q would know, and he would help, he always did.

Above his wheezing breath and the sound of thunder rolling closer over the ocean's unsteady, crashing throbs of waves, his earpiece crackled:

“I‘m sorry, Bond. You know how it goes, we all do what we need to do. “

Nothing made sense now: It made no sense that Q‘s voice was distant and cold when it should be tense and alert. It made no sense that the comms went silent afterwards. Hadn‘t Q coerced him to climb up the endlessly winding stairs? He would send an extraction team soon, surely. Bond's head was pounding. And after they had put him back together, Q would bitch about his broken Walther and budget proposals like he always did.

A lightning bolt chased over the sky, splitting it into a thousand little pieces.

Surely he had been in worse situations than this before, he would be fine.

He just needed to lay here and stay awake.

Just a few more minutes.


End file.
